


Many Mixed Returns

by TwoCatsTailoring



Series: Sound/Fury [15]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Loss of Limbs, Minor Cullen Rutherford/Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Returning Home, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-03-29 21:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: The Inquisition is disbanded. The Inquisitor has been secluding herself in the Emerald Graves, recovering from the loss of her arm.But an unavoidable summons from Ostwick lures her out, and back into adventures if a very different sort.





	1. What's in a name?

Schematics, places, people, giant bears, dragons, campsites, that one rock she, Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne sat on in the Hissing Wastes after they stripped naked and used every bit of Vivienne’s fancy dusting powder on themselves to get the sand off their sweat-damp _everywhere_. Those things had names. Proper names too. Names like Hakkons Mercy, Firewater Garden, or a rock named Periwinkle Overlook.

That was a joke only Echo had the punchline for. There was no way she was telling Bull that drunk off her head and wearing nothing but her scanty smallclothes, Madame de Fer had owned her watchword and bestowed it on her seat overlooking the vast nothingness of the desert.

Women, after all, must stick together.

But that wasn’t the point at all. The point of this train of thought was that she had never named either of her daggers. And she was only just realizing it now. Dagna had given them titles - Bleeding Dirk and Shrewd Agile Dirk - but those weren’t names. Somehow, not naming them felt wrong all of a sudden.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the less enhanced one - her off-hand dagger when she’d had an off-hand (instead of an _off_ hand) - was now little more than a letter opener. As she used the blunt side of the blade to crack Bann Trevelyan’s seal on the latest letter from her parents, she mentally apologized to the weapon for how far it had fallen in life.

Echo hoped that it was at least enjoying retirement. Which she knew was stupid - it was a knife, not a sentient being.

Or was it?

She was stalling the actual reading of this letter and she knew it. She also knew what would be in it, and what she was going to think about it, and how she was completely out of excuses to send to get out of answering it in the affirmative.

Echo steeled herself and got through her mother’s effusive compliments without rolling her eyes too hard before finally getting to the real meat of the missive. Couched in language that positively dripped with Good Grace and Proper Differential Terminology, her mother (and by extension, her father) requested her presence at the ancestral home for at least a month.

The woman didn’t come right out and say it so bluntly but what else had her daughter to do now with the Inquisition effectively disbanded?

Echo dropped the letter on her desk and slumped into her chair, dragging her hand down her face before actively avoiding writing back right away. She could put that off for a week, she calculated, and it’d take at least another week for her answer to arrive. It would take at least two weeks and probably more like three to move herself and her staff from the Emerald Graves to Ostwick and after all that? A month at the minimum would be a requirement to make all the fuss worthwhile. By that calculation, she would have a month between today and having to arrive at her parent’s home.

That was simply not enough time. Given that she had been avoiding returning ‘home’ for almost three years, perhaps there was no such thing as enough time. Trying to think of how much time would, theoretically, be enough to prepare for facing her parents again filled the next ten minutes before she was interrupted.

“Hey.” Sweaty, with a faint streak of something that might have been oily drying on his cheek, Bull’s cheeky half-grin around the doorframe was the most welcome interruption to her malproductive procrastination.

Echo beamed as she launched herself out of her seat and ducked under his raised hands, silencing his protests about being too filthy to touch by wrapping her arm and legs around him and kissing him.

“Ugh,” she complained with a smile against his lips, “You smell awful!”

“I tried to warn you, but no,” he teased, chuckling as he shifted her a little higher. “Your insatiable lust will not be denied. No self-control at all.”

It is, as they both knew from shared experience, difficult to kiss when laughing. But that never stopped them from trying before, why should it stop them now?

“Foul or not, I'm glad you’re back,” she said once he’d deposited her on her desk. Echo set to work unbuckling the clasps on his harness - no easy task one-handed.

“Why’s that? You been causing trouble without me?” Bull moved to help but dropped his hands back to her sides when she swatted at him.

“Of course! But Dagna’s taken Sera and gone back to Skyhold and I need an excuse to not go to Ostwick. Preferably ever, but for now will do.” The tip of her tongue poked out as she frowned over the second buckle. “I’m coming up with nothing on my own.”

Bull opened his mouth to suggest something but clamped it shut again. He did this three more times, his frustration mounting and the line between his brows getting deeper each time he realized his ideas wouldn't apply anymore.

Echo squeak of pleasure at getting both buckles the size of her hand open was cut short by a groan of disgust, “No viable ideas and a solid line of grime? I must be made to suffer!”

“Your life is nothing but tears, kadan,” he returned, shrugging out of his harness and dropping it into her chair. He kissed her forehead gently and she melted against him, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. There was truth in that statement that neither of them needed any more words to be reminded of.

“I missed you,” she said, her cheek against his chest and her arm tight around his side, not caring about road-grime or what he smelled like. He was back, home, with her and the world felt a little more steady.

“I missed you, too.” She tilted her head up and he kissed her again. “Let me get cleaned up and we’ll figure something out.”


	2. Something related to normal

They had not figured a damned thing out. At least not to Echo’s satisfaction although she was aware that she was being hard to please. She didn’t want to go to Ostwick at all, almost to the point of being willing to pitch a very juvenile fit about it. Almost.

What they did come up with was a means of delaying her arrival for a sensible reason that then led to several more reasonable and more pleasurable delays falling into place around it. But even putting off her arrival with stops in Skyhold and Kirkwall did nothing to change the fact that Ostwick was her intended destination.

There had simply been no way around it. All she was doing in any official capacity, now that the panic from the Qunari threat was subsiding and word of Solas’s true identity and plans was limited to those who remained with the Inquisition, was waiting for more information. There were no councils, no maneuvers, no nothing that needed her immediate and undivided attention. And not a single thing that she couldn't do as easily in her parent's home as in her own.

Charter’s pointing out that her being in Ostwick would make it easier on her spies to get word to her faster and more reliably than in the middle of the Emerald Graves had made her feel awful, as if her retreat into the middle of nowhere actually was a fit she was pitching in the middle of the floor. It took several hours to shake those ideas out of her head once they started - she’d needed this removal. She couldn’t lead anyone if she had no idea what she was doing.

And in the face of Solas’s - no. He wasn’t Solas. Solas was her friend. Solas was kind, intelligent, helpful, and witty. Solas was sarcastic and pompous enough to be funny. The man who took her arm was not Solas. He was Fen’harel and Solas was his lie.

And after that lie came to light, she’d had no idea of who she even was, much less what she was supposed to do.

The logistical and practical reasons for answering in the affirmative, coupled with an appeal by the Ostwick Teryn to judge war criminals that conveniently arrived four days after her parent's letter, seemed to tie everything up in a neat little misery-inducing bow. There was no putting off Ostwick now with the Teryn involved.

As aggravated as she was about not being able to weasel her way out of a visit to her parents, she couldn’t stay angry for long. She had already realized that she could put off the visit in the guise of giving her parents enough time to make room for the sizeable retinue that she would arrive with. That delay had meant that several other things, much more pleasant than the idea of being in her parent’s house for a month, fell into place.

First came word that Dagna had quick success in building a prototype for a replacement arm for her. Dagna’s letter said that it wasn’t exactly what they’d talked about when she’d been at the Chateaux, but that for the sake of fit and utility, it was pretty much the same. That sped up Echo’s preparations to depart and brought into play another, much-wanted boon.

For the stretch of her trip between Chateaux D’Onterre in the Emerald Graves and Skyhold in the Frostbacks, Echo would be accompanied by the full complement of The Bull’s Chargers.

“Are you serious?” She’d asked, her tone carefully neutral, her chin down and her eyes cast up at Bull, wondering if she’d heard him correctly even as her heart lodged somewhere in the realm of her throat at the possibility. She would never be one of them, but that wasn't the point. She would be free with them.

“Absolutely. Zigzag and Sister’s teams are both heading this direction. If we can find places to keep them all for a few days,” he shrugged, face split in a wide grin, “You can have us all. I’ll even give you a preferred patron discount.”

So for the first third of the trip, she got exactly what she’d wanted for a long time: traveling in the extremely good company of the Chargers. She had scouted with Grim and pulled off one hell of an assassination with Skinner once and of course, she’d dragged Bull across all of Thedas at the height of the Inquisition, but traveling with them and leaving her entourage to plod along behind at a snail’s pace was liberating.

Forty-nine men strong, every possible specialization from all over Thedas, every race, and every age from fresh-off-the-farm fifteen-year-old Joe Junior to Needle who wasn't even sure how old she was anymore but knew it was past 80. And among this odd assortment of people, she was as free as she could get.

Yes, they were protective. That was their job this time - to get her to Skyhold unhurt. But they didn’t hover or dance attendance. She didn’t have to decide their path, where to stop at night, or even figure out how to feed them all at the end of the day. Their collective expectations of her were simple: carry her own pack, stay alert, help where it was needed, and don't fall in a hole and slow everyone down.

Krem had added the latter to Bull’s list of things to remember while he and Echo extracted the Chief from a long-forgotten pit trap. Echo had doubled over laughing at the time, nearly losing her grip on Bull’s hand at the time and he hadn't even been annoyed.

“I’m just glad to hear you laugh again,” Bull confessed, making her blush.

That night, as their crowded camp settled in and they headed to their places for the first watch, Krem elbowed her and grinned, “For what it's worth, I think you’re going to be alright.”

And as the sun went down and the fires banked, Echo thought to herself that maybe she would be. She just wasn't so sure why the thought made a few hot tears drip down her cheeks.


	3. Disappointments in spades

Skyhold was more full than she expected. Soldiers and scouts, nobles from Orlais and merchants from Crestwood, bakers and mages and farriers remained going about their lives and duties as if nothing had changed. Even Cullen was still in residence.

The shock must have been written on her face when she excused herself, slipping out the door towards her quarters because Cullen followed her.

“Is something wrong? I'm no Josephine, but I'll do whatever I can to….”

“Why are they still here?” Echo hated the way her voice shook. She balled her hand into a fist, focusing on the sting of her nails biting into her palm. “Don't they know they are free to go?”

Just a few hours ago, she’d been human. Ordinary. Giving Rocky a hard time for not managing to stay upright on the slippery ice floes that marked their path through the Frostbacks. Walking through the gates of Skyhold to find it still relatively full and bustling felt like having a hot, wet blanket wrapped around her face.

“Those that remain are almost all here,” he explained with an uncertain smile. “Save a few scouts, what you've seen is what is left.”

Echo took a deep breath and forced herself to think. That would be about a two hundred people total, equal parts household, soldiers, and merchants. That was manageable. She could handle that. She’d handled thousands not three months ago. A few hundred was no larger than a well-connected noble house.

“They’ve been told you retired to the Emerald Graves to recover from the loss of your arm. It's an injury most of them have seen before.”

Echo gave Cullen a hard, side-long look. “More lies, then?”

“I suppose so,” he owned with a shrug, “but for what it's worth after the agents of Fen’harel within the Inquisition were exposed and neutralized, none of your people who remain believed that the only reason.”

It only took a few days in the Inquisition stronghold to realize that was true. Just a few months before, with only a handful of the soldiers gone home, she would have met expectant faces everywhere she looked. Her return to Skyhold would have been an occasion for speeches and celebrations.

But now, the expectations of her people were different. She was able to spend time with them, learn their names, where they were from, why they were here. None were fresh-faced recruits with dreams of glory on the battlefield. They, like her, had seen too much. They, like her, had been betrayed. They, like her, were looking over their shoulders.

She avoided the rotunda completely, choosing the happier memories of the long path through the library to the rookery or braving the slippery mud and chill of the courtyard to Cullen’s office for the endless meetings about the next phase of her journey. But for most of her stay at Skyhold, her time was spent with Dagna. Who had only slightly understated how much of a departure from the original designs this artificial limb she was working on was.

Danga, for her part, placed the blame solely on Sera who was not there to defend herself from the slander and was therefore given all of the responsibility for the damages that Skyhold suffered as Echo figured out exactly how to use the grappling hook attached to her arm. It truly was a wonder of design and engineering, connecting to her shoulder for stability and collapsing for a more streamlined profile when not in use.

Still, Echo would have liked to have had something a little more practical for day-to-day use. But she wouldn't turn down a grappling hook. It might come in handy if Bull fell into any more holes.

Which was unlikely, given the sheer force of numbers that she was traveling with on the next stage of her trip north - from Skyhold to the estate granted to her by Varric in Kirkwall. The progress of her household through the Dales was quicker than anticipated with the aid of the Orlesian military’s improvements to the roads and they were expected to arrive in Kirkwall three days before Echo and her military escort.

She was less than happy about the show of force, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her progress from the Emerald Graves was not made on marked roads or well-known paths but from Skyhold on, it would be. To travel under no banner at all would be inviting trouble of all sorts from mere rumor alone. Bull would be at her side to make the journey more bearable.

Cullen was also traveling with them as far as Kirkwall. After Kirkwall, he would strike out on his own to head further north, eventually arriving in Wycome to, of all things, get married.

Echo had heard the rumors of a woman - a Captain of the Archers in the Inquisition’s army - who had the good fortune to be both charming enough to catch Cullen’s eye and forward enough to see that something came of it, but she had no idea it had progressed so far.

“I’m so happy for you,” she’d laughed, squeezing his hand when he’d told her the news. “But, when did all this happen?”

Cullen looked slightly sheepish as he explained, “Well, everything seemed to come to a head just after the Exalted Council. Bryony proposed and I accepted.”

Echo giggled at the mental image that presented. “I hope you didn’t have to think about it very long.”

Cullen stood a little straighter and tried to look dignified as he answered decisively, “I did not have to think about it at all.”

“Good man! But why is she in Wycome?”

The explanation for that was less dramatic and more sweet and straightforward. When her family had heard the news, they had asked if the pair would consider returning to her home in the north for the wedding. Cullen had readily agreed to that as well, with only the smallest misgivings about meeting his new family just days before he was to marry into it.

Apparently, Bryony’s grandmother was a force of nature.

Bryony had left for home only the week before and her report back that the Waking Sea was as calm to travel on as she’d ever seen it this time of year proved to be true for their crossing a week later.

And upon her arrival in Kirkwall, she was greeted with a celebration.

Echo had not wanted to be this obvious in her entry into the city, but it seemed she had no choice. So with Bull and Cullen flanking her, the progress of her ship into the city was marked with people crowding the edge of the canal to get a good view of her. Their cheers and waves in greeting seemed excessive for a retired Inquisitor.

“Glad you could make it, Jinx,” Varric greeted her as she disembarked with a grin everyone knew meant trouble. “Kirkwall is happy to have you in residence at last. These people need good leadership and I can’t think of anyone better.”

Echo turned to him, her eyes narrowed dangerously as her mind began to race over several things. The key he’d given her, the estate in Kirkwall, his delight in seeing her again, Bran’s tendency to hover at her elbow instead of Varric’s. “You are a bastard, Varric Tethras.”

He only laughed as the party made its way through the streets to the estate that Echo had thought had been his only gift to her. Now, it seemed, she was going to have to give back the entire city.


	4. Hot potato to mashed

A half-hour with Bran Cavin and all of Echo’s suspicions were confirmed. Varric had played a tidy little game of pass-the-gold by handing her the key to the principal chain that could be used to block all trade and traffic into and out of Kirkwall. By having the Key, she was the new Viscount of Kirkwall in everything but name.

And the people of Kirkwall wanted to hear from her, according to Cavin. She hadn’t even been here for a full day and already she was scheduled to give a speech? Varric had a lot to answer for, and when she laid out her findings and her plan to Bull in their room in the Hightown estate house that Varric had given her, Bull had agreed that her plan for revenge was nearly perfect.

Of course, if she’d told him she was setting fire to Kirkwall, he probably would have bought the matches and oil. They had not even been in the city a full 24 hours and already people crossed the street to avoid Bull. That alone erased any guilt she might have felt over what she was about to do to Varric. He clearly had not thought through who he was trying to saddle with responsibility for Kirkwall.

So she addressed Kirkwall from a lovely balcony at the Viscount’s mansion, with Varric to one side and Cavin to the other, Bull looking on from the sidelines and studiously ignoring the skittish ripple that passed through the crowd when they noticed him.

And after her speech, the explosion of confusion and indignation from Varric and Cavin was a delight to behold.

“What the hell was that, Jinx?” Varric demanded as he paced the room.

Echo settled herself into a comfortable chair and smiled as benignly as she could while Bull closed the doors and came to lean on the back of her chair. She could feel the suppressed mirth radiating off of him and his approval right now felt good. Warm and comforting. Bolstering her resolve to bring an end to this mess _her_ way.

“I can’t imagine what you mean, Varric.” Was she purring? Maybe. But this felt like her first personal victory in a very long time and she did not care. She felt like she was back in control of some small part of her life and she had no desire to let go of that feeling.

“Kirkwall has never had anything like this before. There’s no precedent for joint leadership,” Cavin was just shy of sputtering. Echo almost felt sorry for his part to play in this. “I can’t even begin to fathom how this would work!”

“Then I suppose you will have to exercise your creativity, won’t you?” Echo suggested lightly. _Almost_ felt sorry. After all, she was reasonably sure that it had been he who had suggested Varric to the nobility in the first place. “After all, I did just lay out the premise for you. I’m sure that finding a way to enact it will be much easier with a clearly defined goal.”

“He wouldn’t know creativity if it bit him in the ass,” Varric scoffed, crossing his arms and scowling.

“How fortunate then that we have you!” She exclaimed. A little over the top, but she was enjoying this. Let these two fools stew together for a little while! It served them both right for not being straightforward about their intentions.

This was _not_ Orlais and she did _not_ have to play by those rules.

“As far as I can tell,” she cut across the huffs and protests with a wave of her hand, “this is all quite simple. I have the Key, Varric has the money, and Cavin has the know-how. It should be obvious that…”

“You’ve got money, too!” Varric insisted.

“And Varric’s been doing this for months! He’s not an idiot!’ Cavin’s voice rose an octave. He was taking this hard.

“Ha!” Varric barked an unamused laugh. “You don’t believe that for a minute!”

“You aren’t an idiot! You just constantly do idiotic things!”

“Gentlemen.” As amusing as they could be, the fact that they only wanted to argue instead of listening wasn’t going to cut it with her. Her tone was one that Varric had heard before - around her War Table when her advisors wouldn’t agree, in Judgements when the guilty got what they deserved, and in the Exalted Council chamber when she’d disbanded the Inquisition.

And now, the crackling boom of it silenced him immediately and he had the good sense to step on Cavin’s foot to shut him up, too.

“If you would be so kind as to allow me to finish,” she asked, smiling with far too many teeth for it to be friendly. At the pair of shame-faced nods in front of her, she continued, “The solution to the fact that none of us want the task of running Kirkwall is obvious. Bran Cavin, your experience with the nobility and politics of the city puts you in the best position to communicate with the people of Kirkwall. Varric, you have the money and managerial skills to be able to create and oversee a vision for a Kirkwall that works as well as runs. And with my connections from the Inquisition all over Thedas, I am situated perfectly to deal with trade for the city.”

Doing so would also allow her to keep moving, making her a moving target and allowing her to keep an ear trained to gossip and rumor should Fen’harel or his agents start to crop up. It would be a challenge to stay connected to Leliana’s information network, but nothing worse than what they’d managed before. Kirkwall would also be a good location to have known as her home - she was a Marcher after all and Kirkwall was the largest city in the Free Marches. It made sense on many levels for her to be associated with the city but not in it constantly.

“And as we are all reasonable adults,” she shot the two men across from her a look full of daggers and pretended to not notice the rumble of a chuckle from Bull as Cavin and Varric gave each other a side-ways look, “I believe that the three of us can work together to make this arrangement and this city a success.”

“After all,” she added almost as an afterthought, “None of us wants to see Kirkwall fall into the sea.”

Varric looked like he might disagree with that for just a second before he seemed to reconsider and decided to say nothing.

After several minutes of silence, Echo stood up from her seat and stretched. “Now, I am due in Ostwick in three weeks. That leaves me two weeks here in Kirkwall to get things arranged and settled. I have another suggestion and I am going to treat this as our first joint task as the Assembly of Viscounts of Kirkwall, so brace yourselves to collaborate,” she warned jabbing a finger in their direction.

“Cavin, I understand that you’ve been in residence here at the Viscount’s mansion? As has Varric?”

“Yes,” Cavin confirmed, startled at being addressed and slightly cowed as well.

“Would you like to take up residence in the estate that Varric gifted to me? While not as grand, with some degree of work, it could be an excellent home for you and your family,” Echo suggested.

“Jinx, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Varric said before Cavin could answer. At Echo’s stern look, he held up his hands in defense, “Hear me out! If Bran here’s going to have the bulk of dealing with the nobility, then he should be here. It’s more high profile and can handle the public better.”

“Cavin? What do you think?” She would make this a joint decision if it was the last thing she did on Thedas.

“He… he has a point. It would be easier to hold audiences and hearings from here as it is the traditional location of such things,” Cavin admitted with a shrug and a helpless gesture. “It might also go some way in easing the transition to… whatever this is.”

“And I would not have you bunking with Varric longer than necessary. I know how the sound of his snoring carries.”

Cavin bit his lower lip in an effort to not smile and gave an appreciative nod.

“Varric, do you want your house back, then? I’m confident that Bull and I could find accommodation ...”

Varric interrupted again and Echo frowned as he said, “I have my own place, Jinx. You and Tiny can keep that one." He grumbled something under his breath about new memories in a bad place.

Echo chose to ignore it for now, as she was exhausted with this situation and wanted to be gone from here. "Then that's settled. It will be a pleasure working with the two of you."

She turned to leave but stopped short as her mind reverted to more pleasant thoughts now that the urgent need to divest herself of the whole of Kirkwall was passed.

"Can either of you tell me where I can purchase wedding goods?"

Cavin looked taken aback but did a good job of not gawking between her and Bull. He didn't even squeak when he answered, "Of course. I can put you in touch with the best merchants in Kirkwall."

Varric, who had made for the row of decanters on the sideboard fared better, laughing outright as he asked, "Finally caving to convention? I thought better of you, Jinx!"

Echo made a noise of disgust and Bull laughed. "She made me swear to never threaten her with honest womanhood, and I am a man of my word."

"Cullen is getting married," Echo explained. "I want to send a personal gift with him to the wedding." There were already crates of household goods and foodstuffs en route to Wycome from "Her Worship and the Inquisition,” but Echo was determined to send something more than that. Cullen had led her army and was her friend. He and his bride deserved more than just supplies.

Varric nearly spit sherry down his front in surprise, "Curly's doing what?!"

And just like that Echo was off the hook, blissfully passing the torch of Varric's undivided attention to Cullen, who would no doubt resent her for it for at least two weeks.


End file.
